


Veil

by Saber_Wing



Series: New Beginnings [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Dorks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, The Trevelyan Brothers strike again, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:17:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: “Dear heart-”“Don't! I don't want to hear it. I don't want your guilt, or your pity, or whatever the hell this is. I've survived my entire life without you. If you want to handle our adult lives the same way you did our childhood, be my guest. But I won't be a party to it.”Tobias falls back into old habits, and well-worn masks. Max is not pleased.





	Veil

**Author's Note:**

> These works, from this point on, may be published in varying chronological order, but I will arrange them in the series, in the proper order, as I publish them.
> 
> Also, hi! Welcome back! Thanks for reading!

“Is it true your brother once cleaved a giant in _half,_ defending you on the Storm Coast, My Lord?”

Max helped himself to a scone from the vast array of appetizers on the table. He flashed the noble – an arl's daughter from Ferelden, as he recalled – a charming smile.

“It was a qunari with a greatsword, but he _did_ all but cleave him in half. Honestly, I can't take him anywhere.”

The noblewoman giggled. “You're so lucky, Your Worship. _My_ brother scarcely remembers I exist!”

“I heard that,” the woman's brother replied, eyebrow raised in good humor. “Now you've done it, Lord Trevelyan. There will be no living with her after this.”

“Surely, they'd rather speak of...something else, my Lord Inquisitor?”

Maxwell suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his brother spoke stiffly from his right shoulder, looking like a soldier standing at attention. Skyhold had been hosting a week-long, diplomatic event – and people from far and wide, mostly Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, had made the journey.

And Tobias, true to his background, was being completely _weird_ about it.

“There he goes again, changing the subject. See how he treats me? When we're in public, you'd think he was ashamed of me.”

King Alistair – surprisingly casual, in a simple tunic and breeches, grinned sympathetically, taking a swig of his drink. “A friend of mine is the same way – he's insufferable. Even ten years as Warden Commander hasn't stopped him from bowing whenever I enter a room, all decked out in finery.”

Max blinked – it was a bit jarring to hear the Hero of Ferelden spoken of so casually, but then, who was he to talk? Max was the fabled Herald of Andraste...the Inquisitor. He knew first-hand what it was like, being thought of as a legend and not a _person_.

King Alistair laughed, slapping Tobias on the shoulder. “You _have_ been awfully formal thus far, friend. Tobias, wasn't it? I have to say – from the stories, I thought you'd be taller.”

Maxwell grinned – the more he spoke with Ferelden's monarch, the more he genuinely liked the man.

Alistair continued, undeterred by the silence. “Besides, the lady is quite right. Your devotion to your brother is admirable. Didn't I hear something about a botched assassination attempt you thwarted?”

Tobias drew himself up to his full height. His face was a regal mask, his voice, a pleasant monotone. “I merely did what anyone would have done. I shudder to think what might happen if the Inquisitor were to perish. No one else could lead as he does.”

Max caught himself in the nick of time, turning his frown to a smile – one he hoped looked casual. He suppressed a flash of irritation. “Oh, is that all I am? Just when I thought I wouldn't have to be all business, _all_ the time.”

The nobles around them chuckled good naturedly. None seemed to have caught onto the uncomfortable energy between the two brothers. Save King Alistair, of course, who shot Max a sympathetic grimace when no one else was looking.

“Maxwell, please. It won't do to bore our esteemed guests with irrelevant stories.” Tobias avoided Max's eyes, instead focusing on a spot near his forehead. An old trick on how to conduct oneself at court, one they'd known since they were children.

_Oh, so now saving my life was 'irrelevant.'_

Max felt his lips tighten into a stiff line. He told himself it wasn't personal – that this was just how Tobias handled formal events – how he'd always handled them. One had to be 'suitable' among suitable company.

...but was it _really_ so much to ask just to be Toby's _brother_ at these events, as _well_ as the Inquisitor? Or was he doomed to be remembered as nothing but a block of marble? Like, as Varric had once said: '... _those statues of Andraste, holding bowls of fire.”_ It was a terrible thought – one that made him want to dash back to his quarters and never come out again.

Max pasted on a grin. He felt sick.

“A Venatori agent managed to slip into Skyhold. Tobias happened to notice before he got to me, and lobbed his head clean off. I still think it was a bit overkill.”

“He'd just thrown a poisoned dart at you, my dear – he quite deserved it.” Tobias quipped, clearly without thinking. The moment the words fled his lips, he slammed his mouth shut so hard, Max heard his jaw rattle.

The arl's daughter – whose name he still could not remember – squealed. “He calls you _dear._ My _goodness,_ that's so charming. I wish my brother and I were like that.”

The noblewoman's brother bristled, half-jokingly. “I'm right _here,_ you know.”

The slip had clearly been accidental, but it loosened the knot in his chest anyway. Max shook his head, favoring Tobias with affectionate disdain. “Not that you'd ever _know_ he loves me, the way he talks to me around 'suitable' company.”

Before anyone else could reply, his brother cut in, words clipped.

“Your Worship.” Tobias gripped his wineglass so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Might I speak with you in private for a moment? _Please_?”

It took everything Max had not to flinch at the look on Toby’s face. Stiff, purged of all emotion, and so very, _very_ much like the cold, emotionally absent brother he’d known back home. It made his blood run cold.

King Alistair sensed the dramatic shift in the air – either that, or he simply glanced at both of their faces, and saw enough to know it was time to flee. At once, and by any means necessary.

“Maker's _Breath,_ would you look at the time?” Alistair motioned to the nobles surrounding him. “I do think we should all turn in. Long day tomorrow. Again, thank you ever so much for having us, Inquisitor. Skyhold is a wonder.” The king threw Max another grimace, and a slap on the shoulder as he passed, before leading his followers in the opposite direction.

The moment they were out of earshot, Tobias whirled on Max, uncharacteristic anger twisting his features. He grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him into an empty hallway, backing him up against the wall as the door banged shut behind them.

“Why must you _push,_ Maxwell?”

“Why are you so mad?” Max scowled, shaking out of his grip. “You don't have to-”

“Do not presume to know what I have to do. You cannot simply go about proclaiming _my_ alleged love for people, Maxwell! What were you thinking?”

_......_

 

_...oh._

 

“I shouldn't have assumed. I-I...I apologize.” Max winced at the stutter, steeling his resolve. “I didn't mean to put words in your mouth.”

“What?” For a moment, Tobias looked puzzled. Then he blanched, tripping over his words so fast, Max barely understood them. “No! No, no. Of course I love you, but that isn't the point! That isn't at _all_ the point!”

“Then what _is_ the point?” Max threw up his hands. “You promised me you wouldn't be weird about this event, Toby!”

“I'm not being 'weird' about it!”

Max threw him a withering look.

His brother sighed, kneading his temple. “All right. That _is_ what I'm doing, but not for my own sake, and not for the reasons you think.”

Max opened his mouth to protest but Tobias cut him off, expression twisted with frustration.

“You are the Inquisitor, Maxwell. And it simply won't do for me to traipse about, stomping on whatever respect you've earned yourself. My 'love' isn't going to help you. It will simply make you appear even weaker than you already do.”

Max narrowed his eyes.

“So now I'm _weak,_ then.”

“Maker's mercy, no! That's not what I...” Tobias groaned, threading his fingers through his hair. “Of course not. What I mean is, they'll use my love for you to undermine you. And you practically just shouted it to the King of Ferelden! One of us has to protect your public image!”

“And at what point have I ever given you the impression I care about that? Unless they can find themselves someone else with a magical hand that closes rifts, they're sort of stuck with me regardless of their personal feelings _._ ”

“ _Tolerating_ your authority is not the same as endorsing it. And we _want_ their endorsement.”

“Let me worry about that. I'll put my foot down with the nobles, if need be. But I sincerely doubt most of them are going to expect me not to love my own _fucking_ brother.”

“How can you not see how dangerous this is?” Tobias blew a frustrated breath between his teeth. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Maxwell. Father knew the jeopardy that would place you in, even back home! He understood that people would take one look at you and grind you beneath their heel! He saw your vulnerability – knew how much of a mess it would make you! And he was right! Look at what we're talking about! You're upset because I treated you formally in a formal setting!”

“I'm upset because you're treating me like I only mean something because I'm the Inquisitor! And it's not just tonight – it's every night, every time somebody calls you out, and you get scared!”

Tobias paled, nearly the instant the words fled his lips. “...is that what you think?”

“Why should I _not_ think that? You've been acting like we're strangers ever since the Ferelden nobles got here. And you can't just go from spending every waking moment with me, to pretending you don't care! I can't...I _can't._ You either love me, or you don't, but you're gonna have to _fucking_ pick one.”

“I...I didn't mean it like-”

“Sure you didn't.” Max felt his lip curl. He clenched his fists, hoping that would stop his hands from trembling.

“Dear heart-”

“Don't! I don't want to hear it. I don't want your guilt, or your pity, or whatever the _hell_ this is. I've survived my entire life without you. If you want to handle our adult lives the same way you did our childhood, be my guest. But I won't be a party to it.”

“Max-”

Maxwell ignored him, nearly tearing the door off its hinges as he stormed from the room. Before he shut it behind him, however, he glanced back over his shoulder, shocked at how quickly the tears formed beneath his eyes.

“Why did you follow me to Haven? Was it an act of love? Or has this been about you from the start?”

Max stared back at Tobias just long enough to see his stricken expression, before letting the door fall shut behind him.

* * *

“That's gonna be hard to come back from, kid.” Varric whistled, shaking his head.

Tobias Trevelyan paced a line in front of his dwarven companion. “I know.”

“You probably couldn't have said anything worse if you'd _tried._ ”

“I _know.”_ He continued to pace, threading fistfuls of hair between his fingers. The words were raw, panicked – laced with desperation. “What am I going to _do_?”

“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Varric stepped into his path, steering Toby to the chair he'd just vacated. “I can't blame Max for being upset. You've been pretty cold to him this week. If you want to win him back, you're gonna have to do a complete three-sixty. Show him what he means to you. And, honestly, at this point? It probably has to be public.”

Tobias groaned. “So, I should...what? Stand on a rooftop and proclaim my undying love for him?”

“It'd be a start. Besides, I think we both know that story you spun for him was bullshit, anyway. You're not protecting _his_ public image. You're protecting yours.”

Tobias glared, tightening his jaw. “How dare you say such a thing. Nothing could be further from...from the...” He trailed off, gaze falling away from Varric. For an unreasonably long amount of time, he was silent.

The dwarf headed over to a table in the corner of the room, busying himself with the glasses. He came back moments later, thrusting something decidedly alcoholic into Tobias's hand. The older Trevelyan downed the whole thing without a word.

A few more beats of silence passed before Tobias finally spoke, pale-faced and shaken.

“...oh, dear.”

“Eh, don't beat yourself up.” Varric patted his shoulder, expression knowing. “You can still fix this. You just have to do something grand, extravagant. Something so big, I could never sell it in one of my books.”

Tobias trailed off, pensive. “There _is_ a banquet being held tomorrow night.”

“Sounds like a good place to do it.”

“Do _what?”_ Tobias set his empty glass onto the table, heart pounding out of his chest. “I still haven't a clue how to fix this!”

“You're a smart guy. You'll think of something.”

* * *

“You're overreacting, you know.”

Max paced a line in front of his lover, wringing his hands. “Yeah, maybe.”

Iron Bull stepped in front of Max, halting his advance. “People are creatures of habit, and this is what your brother is used to. He doesn't know how to be anything but that prim, proper 'spare' your parents bred him to be.”

Max collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. He managed to swallow a sob, though his breath hitched.

“Kadan...”

“No.” Max shook himself. “It's fine. He can do whatever he wants. I don't care.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “You, uh...realize lying to yourself isn't a great way to handle this. Right, boss?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“Okay, then. Glad we're on the same page.” Bull crouched beside him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let me know when this pity party ends. We can get together. Maybe have some fun instead.”

Max huffed. Deep down, he knew Bull was right. He _was_ overreacting, but he and Toby had come _so_ far. Or at least, he thought they had. It just hurt to see how easily it could all mean nothing – how the relationship they'd conjured from the ashes of their dead old lives could be reduced to rubble so quickly.

Bull must have noticed his face falling, and he tilted his chin up. “Hey, come on. He loves you. He just sucks at it.”

“Do I really know that, Bull?” Max looked away, blinking back tears. “Or has he been telling me what I want to hear this whole time?”

Bull crossed his arms over his chest. “People can fake words, sure. But actions are louder, and his seem pretty clear. He left his nice, cushy life in Ostwick behind to come fight demons and shit with you. Nobody does that out of guilt. Nah. Guilt might have brought him here, but that's not why he stayed.”

Max bit his lip. “You think?”

His lover reached out, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. “I do.”

Max rested his head on Bull's broad chest, taking a shaky breath. He was blowing this out of proportion...he knew he was. But hearing his brother speak so bluntly about all the ways Max failed as a human being really hit him where it hurt.

Although...Toby wasn't _wrong_. Max _was_ a mess, wasn't he? His brother had just been speaking the truth. And, while he did the best he could to prevent that from interfering with his duties as Inquisitor – and thought he mostly succeeded – a lifetime of insecurities like this was bound to manifest in some way.

Max sighed, frustrated. “I'm being stupid. Aren't I?”

Bull hummed, playfully avoiding his eyes. “I mean...I wasn't gonna say it.”

Max scoffed, lips twitching despite himself. “Screw you.”

“Sure. You want it on the floor, or the table? Or maybe the chandelier. We haven't tried that yet. You could hang upside down. I could...”

Max slapped him, genuine laughter falling from his lips. “Behave yourself at the ball, and we'll see.”

Bull smirked at the thought, pulling Max from the chair, and onto his lap. “Don't get me wrong, boss. Your brother was stupid, too. He shouldn't be using you to avoid his own emotional baggage...”

“ _Thank_ you!”

“...but neither of you are gonna solve anything ignoring each other.”

“I know.” Max released a shaky breath. “I'll talk to him. Not now. Maybe fifty years from now.”

Bull raised an eyebrow.

“...okay, fine. After the party.”

His lover cupped his face, pressing their foreheads together. “Good boy.”

* * *

Tobias fidgeted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his doublet. He watched as Max turned toward him, presumably to include him in the conversation.

“And how are you enjoying the festivities, brother?” Max flashed him a smile, one that likely appeared convincingly warm, to prying eyes.

It was anything but – Tobias knew that, even if their audience did not. The Inquisitor's eyes were cold, guarded, as he took a sip from his wine glass. Waiting for an answer.

Tobias inclined his head, biting his tongue against the instinctual pleasantries threatening to spring from it. Instead, he swallowed hard, ignoring the alarm bells blaring in his head. “Not particularly.”

Max raised an eyebrow, the picture of 'genuine' surprised. “Oh, really? Why-ever not?”

Tobias tightened his jaw. He fought against the urge to mask his expression, instead, allowing it to twist with anguish. It felt wrong – he was vulnerable, exposed. His hands shook where he clenched them in his lap, terrified. “You know full well why.”

Max shot him a warning look – it felt strange, being on the receiving end of one.

He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from the frigid – completely uncharacteristic – look in Max's eyes, before grabbing his own wine glass. His hands were shaking so violently, he nearly dropped the fork he'd picked up with his other hand, but he managed, raising it to clink against the glass.

“If I might have everyone's attention?”

Dozens of eyes turned to stare.

Sweat broke out upon his brow, but he ignored it, willing his voice to be steady when he spoke. “I am Tobias Trevelyan. Scion of the Trevelyan family, and most recently, founder of our esteemed Inquisitor's personal guard.”

Max was favoring him with a narrow-eyed stare – one filled with so much distrust, it actually made his blood curdle – but he had his attention. Which was something, at least.

He took a breath.

“...and it has recently been brought to my attention that I have misled you about an issue very near and dear to my heart. If you'll indulge me, I've a mind to rectify that presently. Allow me to start by sharing a few honest facts about myself.” Tobias cleared his throat, glancing around the room. There wasn't an eye in sight that wasn't turned on him _now_. More importantly, Maxwell was watching him with renewed interest – which in the end, was the only thing that mattered.

Toby continued. “I enjoy fighting. I always have. My brothers and I were taught combat only as a formality, but I loved it. Had a secret desire to join the Grey Wardens, though that has since proven to have been an unwise dream, one I find myself glad was never realized.”

Polite laughter echoed around the table.

“Although, it might still be preferable to your company. In fact, I'd be glad if I never saw the grand majority of you again, as long as I lived.”

Max choked on his wine.

“Speaking of people I can't stand, Lady Trombley, I am not interested in being your betrothed. Nor have I ever been.”

The lady in question gasped. “Why, I never-”

“Lady Imelda, I _hate_ crab cakes. Stop plying me with them every waking moment of my life, if you please.”

Imelda placed a hand over her heart, looking mildly offended. He'd been pretending to like those bloody things at soirees for _years,_ and he wasn't even sure why.

“Lord Sorel, this pathetic pissing match you've been having with your brother for over a decade needs to stop. He's the bloody Bann now, I daresay he may have won.”

The man in question regarded Tobias with poorly concealed shock. Almost as much shock as Maxwell himself, who was watching him in slack-jawed horror.

“ _What the hell are you doing?”_ Max mouthed, pale-faced.

Tobias ignored him.

“And I _love_ this man.” He pointed to his brother, impassioned. “With all my heart.”

Max's face turned the same shade of red as the chair's upholstery, although he didn't look... _displeased,_ precisely _._ Perplexed, certainly. Incredulous, most definitely. But there was something light about his gaze...a tentative sort of hope.

“And I would brave the Black City...wage war on all of Thedas. Drag this whole damned room through the flames of Andraste's pyre, before I _ever_ let him get burned.”

King Alistair was more composed than everyone else in the room. In fact, he seemed outright amused. He smiled encouragingly at Tobias, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. It made him want to sink into the deepest hole he could find, but he pressed on regardless. Quite certain he may never be able to show his face in _any_ court, ever again.

He didn't care. The way Max's icy expression was thawing as he spoke made every second of embarrassment worth it. He locked eyes with his brother, surprised to find his own burning.

“I told you once, that when I thought you were dead, nothing else mattered except that you were my brother. And I'd loved you.” Toby's voice broke on the last word, and he clamped down on it, horrified. Nevertheless, he pressed on, willing the tears to stay far beneath his eyes. “I meant it. And I won't have you thinking you are anything less than everything to me.”

To his abject horror, there were a few scattered exclamations of _'aww!'_ echoing around the table, which was quite possibly, worse than any hostility he might have received. He ignored those and pressed through the embarrassment, heat rising to his cheeks. “ _I'm_ the mess, here. Not you.”

Max remained silent, stunned.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Inquisitor blinked, clearing his throat. “It's not a contest, Toby,” Max breathed, exasperated. But he looked at Tobias for the first time in days. _Really_ looked – and smiled. Tentative. Small. But still there.

It felt like coming home – made something tight and painful loosen in his chest.

“I could make it one, if you'd like. I've plenty more dirt to air about myself to these fine people.”

“Maker, no.” Max smiled – wider this time. The type that lit up his whole face. “I think we get it.”

At the other end of the table, Varric's shoulders were shaking with laughter. He sat wheezing into the tablecloth – so hard, Tobias wondered if the dwarf might actually asphyxiate.

Tobias cleared his throat. Slowly – deliberately – he picked up the napkin he'd discarded in the chair and took his seat, replacing it on his lap with painstaking care. He picked up his desert fork and set to work on the cake he'd abandoned, hoping against hope that it was poisoned, and he would die presently.

Varric finally managed to lift his head, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes. “I can never put this in a book. No one will believe me.”

A few chairs down from Max, The Iron Bull, who had remained silent thus far, raised his glass to Tobias, saluting him with it before downing the contents in one gulp.

Eventually, the King took pity on him and changed the subject with something distracting. A toast, the contents of which Tobias didn’t hear a single word. Some indeterminate amount of time later, it was finally permissible for him to excuse himself. He did so, with as much grace as one could manage with dozens of eyes following one's departure. He ducked through a set of balcony doors, locked them, and resolved not to exit them again until everyone was either in bed, or too drunk to notice him.

Tobias sunk onto a bench near the railing. Resting both elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands, and hoped fervently that he would never have to lift it again.

Eventually, the sound of the bolt being thrown and someone sliding through the door behind him caught his attention, and Tobias nearly panicked – before he recognized the sound of his brother's gait. He glimpsed Max out of the corner of his eye as he slid onto the bench beside him.

For a time, he was silent. When finally he broke that silence, it was with a certain measure of uncertainty.

“...are you okay?”

Tobias took a breath – gathering up the courage to look him in the face was something that took a shamefully long amount of time, but he managed.

Maker, but Max had the most piercing eyes. Toby had forgotten how cold they could be – as they had been this entire, dreadful evening. Seeing them melted back into the warm, expressive sea of green he knew so well made him sag with relief.

“That rather depends. Are _we_ okay?”

Max glanced at Toby for a moment before looking away, worrying his lip between his teeth. “...did you mean it?”

“Every word.”

“Well...” Max eyed Tobias sidelong. “I don't know. You _did_ just proclaim your undying love for me in a room filled with some of the most powerful nobles in Thedas. After you essentially called them all terrible people.”

“...Maxwell, do me a favor, and open a rift, if you please. Preferably one that will swallow me up immediately.”

His brother laughed – the first genuine laughter he'd heard from him in days. “Oh, come on. It's not that bad. They'll only remember it forever.”

“You're insufferable.” Tobias glared, though there wasn't any real heat behind it.

His brother shifted uncomfortably. “You didn't have to do that, you know.”

“Yes, I did. Max...dear heart, I am _so_ sorry.”

“No, I... _I'm_ sorry. I'm a grown man. I shouldn't need constant reassurance that my _brother_ loves me, for Maker's sake. It's not fair of me to throw that expectation on you.” There was something self-loathing in the words – something Tobias immediately decided he didn't like.

“But you _were_ right. I was more afraid for my image than yours. I promised you I'd never do that again. I'm sorry.”

Max sighed, placing a hand atop his on the bench. “I don't expect you to be the picture of warmth, Toby. But if you could maybe _not_ pretend I don't exist for days at a time while dignitaries visit? I'd be happy.”

“That...that I can do.”

“Good. And if I'm...I don't know...smothering you too much? Let me know? I could have been more considerate about how uncomfortable I was making you.” Max rubbed his chin, pensive. “We could have a safe word. Bull and I do.”

Tobias raised a palm. “Please let that be as far as that sentence goes.”

Max laughed. “I won't bore you with the sordid details.”

Another thought occurred to Tobias – a terrible, horrible, very bad, thought.

“...how angry is Lady Montilyet, precisely?”

His little brother grimaced. “You, uh...might have to flee the country. I think I can talk Leliana over to our side, though. She could get you out unscathed. Probably. I'll see what I can do.”

Tobias groaned, banging his head repeatedly into Max's shoulder. “You could always just _kill_ me.”

“ _Oh_ , don't be so dramatic. It'll be fine.”

“...is that a no on the killing me part, then?”

Max patted his head. “I'll think about it.”

 

 


End file.
